


Shades of Gold

by Chris Fitzner (chrisfitzner)



Series: Beauty and the Beast [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrisfitzner/pseuds/Chris%20Fitzner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to follow 'Beauty and the Beast'..</p>
<p>Belle Reading has been shut away from the world for a long time and all she has left are her memories of Rumplestiltskin. But escape is on her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Second in a series, written in the spring of 2012.

In the darkness, all I can do is dream. The people I see and the places I go are more real to me than the blank, grey walls of my cell are. The stone faced nurses who ply me with pills, the craggy faced orderly who brings my meals and cleans the cell once a week. They are more like dreams, bad dreams, than the merry dwarves, sparkling fairies and the strange skinned man in a dark castle are to me. This place, whatever it is, feels outside of time and, as I receive no visitors, out of mind. I must have had a life before arriving in this place. I could not have simply popped into being in this bland, unhappy room. But those memories are faded now, the emotions that I once felt are like muted colours in an old photograph. Did I have friends? I remember the books, oh so many books, the now unfamiliar joy welling up inside of me. I remember him with great clarity, an older man who walked with a fine cane, always well dressed and almost always composed. My heart aches for him and I have forgotten why. Sometimes, she comes. Her dark, hateful eyes filling the small viewing window set into the cell door. I know, without doubt, that she is the reason I am here, being poisoned out of my rational mind. The rage that burns inside me at the very thought of her frightens me. I have flung myself at the door, once or twice, when she has come. Or so they tell me when I have opened my eyes to find myself wrapped up in a straight jacket. "Crazy, and dangerous," they whisper, "No improvement, growing worse," their heads nodding in solemn agreement. But they do not ban her from my door. I remember those eyes from long ago. They are the only thing that is real here. Wherever 'here' is. In dreams, I talk to the strange, little man, his skin sometimes greyish as if he is made of old stone and at other times a more bronze-like hue. His dark hair seems faded and dull against his strange complexion and his dark, sharp eyes.

 

* * *

 

"You had a life, Belle, before all this," he said to me, the cell walls faded and were replaced with a large room occupied chiefly by the long table he sat at. Bright daylight flooded through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Retrieving a pair of scissors, I moved to the cabinet that contained some of his precious collection, selecting a simple, silver vase.

"What made you decide to come here with me?"

"Heroism," I replied instantly. He had asked me this once before, but I had been too shy of him then. He listened carefully as I continued on, possibly telling him more than he wanted.

"- do the brave thing and bravery will follow," I snipped a few inches from the stem of a rose, a gift from this odd little man, and slipped it into the waiting silver vase.

And I _had_ thought I had done a brave thing by giving up my freedom for the sake of my family and village. But in reality, what had I really done? I gave up one life of captivity for another, more obvious life of captivity (and servitude). Gaston, my darling, superficial "betrothed" would have been happy only when I was making his home. Barefoot, pregnant and happily pulling his filthy boots off and rubbing his smelly feet at night.

This man, Rumplestiltskin, kept a respectful distance and as long as I had things tidy and running smoothly, allowed me to read whatever caught my fancy in his vast library. And, in recent days, allowed me to take an hour now and again to walk in the gardens. Gaston would not have known what a book was, even if it had smacked him in the face. Rumplestiltskin kept to himself mostly, when he was not away or meeting with clients, seated at the giant spinning wheel, spinning straw into gold. The amount he had spun in the two months since I'd arrived could shame King Midas. I had told him that one evening, his only answer being his creepy little giggle.

"And is it everything you hoped?" Rumplestiltskin wondered when I had finished speaking of bravery and seeing the world.

Spending my days keeping house for the notorious and powerful Rumplestiltskin had never crossed my mind until the need had arisen and the opportunity presented itself. And so the answer to him would be: No, it wasn't _every_ thing I had hoped. It was a great deal better.

While cleaning upstairs one day, I came across a child's clothes that would have been worn by a young boy, but I had not felt comfortable asking him about them; until now.

His playful mood fell away into silence and he studied his hands.

"There was a son," his voice was quiet. "But I lost him."

I wanted to know this man, this sometimes thoughtful and always intelligent master. He would be the only one I would know for the rest of my life, so why wouldn't I? And I told him as much.

Rumplestiltskin looked thoughtful and then smiled.

"I'll make you a deal."

And then he let me go.

 

* * *

Fluorescent light from the corridor floods through the open door, hurting my sensitive eyes. The ogre-like orderly comes in with my supper, or maybe it was breakfast. Tray in one hand and tazer in the other (in case I make a break for it? Break _where_?) he gives me a crooked grin.

"Meal time, princess," he announces unpleasantly, presenting me with the tray and making his exit as quickly as possible.

I stare at the tray, sitting on the bench, regarding the mashed potatoes (I guess?), carrots and grey mystery meat. Suspiciously, I poke the latter with my fingertip. It squishes and I make a face. It will probably taste better cold.

Stretching my legs, I climb onto the bench and peek out the small, narrow window. The view is dull, unimaginative. Most days I cannot even tell what is outside, or if the window even looks upon the outside. I would give anything to catch a glimpse of a blade of grass or a sliver of blue sky.

Maybe this is my own special hell. Poor accommodations, lousy food, rude people and no books.

Sighing, I descend from the bench and sit next to my "dinner" tray. My evening pills are missing which only means that one of the ward wenches are in the mood to torment me with them. Would _she_ come and watch as she has before? And could I stay lucid enough for once to jab her evil eyes out with my fingers?

It would be no less than she deserves.

Scratch that, _far_ less than she deserves.


	2. Two

I met _her_ , for the first time, on my flight from the dark castle along the forest road. My feet were weary and the spring air was cool, and I had only a light cloak to keep me warm. But my load was light, the basket I carried (under the pretense that I was fetching him straw) completely empty and my spirits high from being out of doors. Lost in the beauty of the day, an imposing coach had caught me unaware. It nearly ran me from the road, but the procession stopped, the lady within leaning out to inquire if I were all right. And then suddenly, I had a walking companion.

She was very beautiful, to be sure. Tall and elegantly dressed in the fashion of the supremely wealthy. Her dark eyes practically smoldered within her creamy, perfect face and her hair spilled down over her shoulders, a curling, dark waterfall. Or as dark as the nights had been in "my room".

Beautiful, and nosy. My only desire had been for solitude and her inviting herself to join me was irksome. Having company would not help me cover the distance I wished to before night fell, before he changed his mind and came after me. The journey home would be a long one since I had little concept of exactly how far away Rumplestiltskin had actually taken me.

Perhaps the empty basket was an obvious clue or maybe my spirits had not seemed as high as I thought they were. In any case, she was far too astute for my liking when she asked me from whom I was fleeing. I remember her slight smirk as she watched my neutral expression darken.

"Master? Or lover?" I did not answer her, it was none of her concern. "Master and lover." she purred.

Master and lover indeed, as if he would have ever let his guard down long enough to love something other than his wealth and his power. As if he would ever let someone love him. If only he had been an ordinary man, as he used to be, I was certain. But power corrupts, and absolute power - Rumplestiltskin.

"True love's kiss can break any curse," her smile was so sweet as to be sinister. But perhaps - perhaps she had a point. And in the end, what did I have to lose?

Everything, I had everything to lose and I wish I had realized that before I acted on her advice.

I smiled thinly and thanked her, however unwelcome her presence had been to me. Once she and her entourage had gone, I changed my course, heading to the nearest town, lest I return to him without the promised straw.

 

* * *

The forest around me vanishes and I am in my cell again. It must be morning since the mashed potatoes on the tray have turned into a bowl of oatmeal and my morning pills in a paper cup. My face still aches from the ward wench prying my jaw open last night. So nice of them to let me drug myself today.

Sometimes I like to give the ward wenches a run for their money by acting out and making powder from my medications, smearing then on the walls like paint. If they are going to treat me like a dangerous lunatic, then why not have a little fun?

I sometimes wonder why he has not come for me. Enough time has passed since he threw me out of the castle. He loved me then, I had been so certain. He was just a coward, frightened and amazed that anyone could love him.

Maybe he has forgotten me and I shall languish here forever, remembered by the only person I have ever had cause to hate.

The door opens again and one of the ward wenches saunters in with a clipboard and her equipment. Vitals time, oh goody. I'm not sure why they bother to monitor my physical health. None of them will regret me if I die in their care.

I ignore her as best I can while she jerks my arm straight, takes my blood pressure and then listens to my heart. She jots the results into my file while I hum to myself.

"You haven't eaten your breakfast, Belle," she notices my untouched food and medicine. I stop humming and stare at her blankly, playing the part they all expect of me. The ward wench, this one Donna, is the good cop to Linda's bad cop. At any rate, I give her less trouble, most of the time.

Donna stays until I take my pills and make a half hearted attempt at the oatmeal. She takes the tray with her when she leaves. My eyelids grow heavy and my head lolls to the side, knocking into the wall. Dreams and memories are all I have anymore.

 

* * *

Darkness had fallen by the time I returned to the dark castle, straw in tow. I remember my stomach being in knots from hunger, or nerves, anxious as I had been to see him.

I hurried through the corridors to the room in which he would be spinning his straw, his favourite evening pastime. The click of my shoes were heavy against the stone, the only noise I can recall.

The doors swung open of their own accord and I walked in, trying to pretend that I had not been in such a hurry. Rumplestiltskin was seated at his spinning wheel, as I had known he would be.

"Back already?" he looked up as I approached with the basket of straw. The light was poor, casting shadows over his already dark face. It made it hard to read his expression but I thought I saw relief.

"Admit it, you're happy I'm back," I teased him while I unloaded the straw.

"I'm not unhappy," he admitted sheepishly. My heart started to pound harder but I tried to seem as at ease as possible.

"And _you_ promised me a story," my hands grasped his small shoulders.

"Did I?' he feigned forgetfulness. I had taken up a perch along the broad wheel, close to him.

"Tell me about your son," I persisted.

Rumplestiltskin still avoided my gaze, repeating that he had lost his son and that there was nothing else to tell me. There was sorrow in his voice that I had not heard before and my heart broke for him. How could anyone live so long without love in their heart? I was convinced that everyone needed love.

"Why did you come back?" he whispered, his face just inches from mine. I felt light headed at his closeness. My heart ached, I needed him like I never had anyone else.

"I wasn't going to," I admitted, distracted by his warm breath on my face. "But something changed my mind."

Those last few inches between us seemed impossible for me to close as my fear started to overcome me. He met me halfway, to my pleasant surprise, his lips soft and warm, gentle.

I watched his face as he pulled away, eyes closed, murmuring in confusion. I saw as the magic rippled across his skin, dark and visible; normal, human flesh underneath, lifeless hair deepening in colour.

In my excitement I begged him to kiss me again, my hands grabbing the sides of his face.

"Any curse can be broken!"

"Who told you that?" he cried, knocking over his stool as he jumped up. My joy evaporated as I watched the pain and anger twist his features into something more monstrous. His rage had been tangible, rolling from him in waves, filling the room. That was the beast I had not yet seen.

In my fear, all I could do was stammer, unable to move beyond 'she' before Rumplestiltskin was consumed by his fury. I watched in confusion and horror as he shouted and cursed at the previously covered mirror. 'She', whoever she was, had turned me against him, a trick to make him weak. 'She', he had told me, was 'my friend, the queen," .

The reasonable and thoughtful master I thought I had known was gone, replaced by a hateful creature who seemed to be enjoying his tantrum in a way, and hurting me by throwing my own words back in my face.

"It means it's true love -" I tried to interject.

"Shut up! Shut the hell up!"

"Why won't you listen to me?" I shouted, getting angry.

"Because no one, no one can ever love me!" he roared, gripping my shoulders tight and shaking me. His hand caught my wrist and he tugged hard, dragging me back through the lower part of the castle to "my room". He shoved me through the doorway and I stumbled to my hands and knees, scraping them on the stone floor. Without another glance, he slammed the door with a wave of his hand, leaving me alone in the chilly dungeon with my broken heart.


	3. Three

I don't remember how long he left me in the dungeon, only that it was dark and chilly. A silver tray with breakfast and a pot of weak tea appeared not long after the light crept through the bars but no Rumplestiltskin. I had not heard even the hint of his presence since the night before when I heard him raging through the glass of his collection cabinet. I only curled up on the hard, stone ledge and lost myself in thought.

Mostly I considered what I would do if Rumplestiltskin ever let me out. Would I go on as his caretaker and he would ignore me as he did most of the rest of the world and act as though nothing ever happened? Perhaps he would send me back to my father with no explanation other than my services were no longer required. I smiled a little at that option, thinking of the smile that might light up my Papa's face when I came through the door and into his arms, home to stay. Or maybe, Rumplestiltskin would just kill me and be done with it. I shivered a little at that, wanting nothing more than to go home to my friends and my father. I had tried heroism and bravery and now I was ready to be done with it.

The door swung open then and in the imp strode, stopping in the middle of the cell, not looking at me.

So, what are you going to do to me?" I ventured.

"Go," he said imperiously, gesturing to the open door.

" _Go_?" I repeated, staring at him, a little incredulously.

"I don't want you anymore, dearie."

The ache that seized my chest was terrible, I opened my mouth to say something and then decided against it, rising from the stone and heading to the door. Rumplestiltskin remained in the center of the cell, his back to me. Halfway through the door, my hurt and anger got the better of me and I stomped back in, stopping just inches in front of him.

"You were freeing yourself," I scolded, hardly believing that I had turned around in the first place. "if you could just believe that someone could want you. But you couldn't take the chance."

"That's a lie," his voice was flat.

"You're a coward, Rumplestiltskin," I spat. "And no matter how _thick_ you make your skin, that doesn't change."

"I'm not a coward, dearie," he told me calmly. "It's quite simple really. My power means more to me than you."

I knew that he could be a grand liar but this was a lousy one, even for him.

"No, no it doesn't," my voice had become softer, the tears I had been fighting rising closer to the surface. "You just don't think I can love you," I saw him flinch a little and the desire to shake him and scream had all but died. "Now you've made your choice, and you're going to regret it. _Forever_. And all you have is an empty heart," I blinked back the tears but my voice began to crack. "and a chipped cup."

I strode out of the cell, my footsteps heavy on the stone and sounding loud in my ears. Rumplestiltskin did not follow me as I made my way to the front entrance, nor did he as I strode across the grounds. I continued unaccosted through the imposing but open portcullis and into the Enchanted Forest. I held my head high and did not look back. I would never see him again.

 

* * *

I have to get out of here, I decide. I have spent far too long in here, however long that is. I spend my time lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, refusing to eat and generally being uncooperative when the ward wenches come in to force me. Donna tries to tempt me with the promise of more frequent exercise, walking about the ward in hopes that it will make me behave.

I don't believe her, of course. It's a promise that I have heard before and I lost track of how many times it's been broken. Perhaps Donna has forgotten but I haven't. For a crazy person, I sure have a better memory than she does.

It's been a couple of days since I took a full dose of whatever it is I'm on, most of it I've been able to spit into Linda's face. The headaches have been constant, or maybe it's the same headache. Nausea and the sweats join the migraine in the fun, but in brief periods when the pain subsides, it is easier to focus on what is evidently the present and I'm less likely to drift into dreams.

Sometime around the fourth day of withdrawal (because I suppose that's what this is), I remember my father. Not as he had been, in the fine robes of a lord, but as a merchant. Hunched over his accounts, piles of books all around. I wonder if this is memory of my life after imprisonment. After awhile, the years had faded into blackness and then, I was here. If anything came in between, I was not aware until now.

If my Papa is out there somewhere then why does he not come to see me? And how could he have let me fall into her hands? The father I had known would never have let this happen to me.

On day five, instead of the items for me to give myself a thorough sponge bath, Donna appears in my cell, smiling nervously, saying that she is taking me down to the showers. A rare treat for me so she tries to make it special but she's not fooling me. After five days of awful sweating, there's not a sponge bath in the world that will make me feel clean right now.

Donna deposits me in one of the white tiled shower stalls and waits in the changing room while I enjoy the hot and steamy water. The body gel the my ward wench has left me is scented and I smile as I lather it into my skin. I inhale deeply, the scent of roses filling my nose.

Roses - something in my memory stirs. A rose made of crystal, three white roses. Images flood my mind; Papa in a bookshop, two women that I called sisters and the man with the cane who has never really faded away.

 _Rumplestiltskin_.

I gasp, steadying myself against the wet wall of the shower.

"Belle? Everything okay in there?" Donna calls.

"Yes," I call back, hoping I sound normal, though my heart is racing. I finish rinsing the bubbles from my skin and turn the water off. I stay in the stall, shivering but not ready to give myself back up to the ward wench, even if it is Donna. Drying off with a rough towel, I dress in the clean uniform she left for me. I rejoin Donna in the changing room and give her a small smile as she leads me back to my cell. I follow her without a word, my mind absorbing details of our surroundings and trying to come up with a plan because I have to get out.


	4. Four

 My chance comes a few days later. Or perhaps it is weeks later. The passage of time tends to still be fuzzy for me. Spitting the pills at Linda was no longer an option. I suppose after a few times, she tired of it. They arrive only with my meals now, where I crush them and scatter the powder near cracks in the wall and under the bench that I sleep on. At some point, the wenches trade shifts too, with Linda here when I awake and Donna when I fall asleep. Maybe Linda thought I would be easier to deal with during the day shift. Silly Linda.

My escape plan is as complete as it is ever going to be. If by 'plan' I mean having no plan at all, which I don't. I simply observe, make mental notes and wait for something that seems to be an opportunity. I could be waiting forever. I cannot remember what occurred before I woke here. The man with the cane: Mr. Gold - Rumplestiltskin, shunned me, turned me out for the second time in our acquaintance that I do recall. Shouting and tears followed by torrential rain, ended by a loud smack and then I was here. How you can love someone and still throw them away, I never understood, I still don't. Reason would say that he never truly loved me at all and I'm a great admirer of reason. But my heart tells me otherwise and if he's still out there, ever really _was_ out there, then I'm going to find him.

Twirling my hair around my finger, I listen to the sounds coming from down the corridor. Donna has likely arrived to relieve Linda for the night and that beastly orderly is probably on his way home too. The occasional flicker from the window, that I have recently discovered _does_ look outside, is worth only momentary interest until the faint rumbling begins.

Uneasy, I pace the cell, the seconds between lightning and thunder decreasing with the rapid approach of the storm. Faint moans and wailing reach my ears from the handful of other patients here, while Donna's steady stride marches back and forth, attempting to soothe their distress.

"How are you feeling, Belle?" Donna's care worn face appears as the door opens a bit.

"A little anxious," I admit, smiling nervously.

"It will be all right," she reassures me, eyes darting in the direction of the next wail. "I'm going to leave your door ajar so you can call for me if you need me." Donna says, giving me a meaningful look, as if to say, " _I trust you_ ".

"Thank you, Donna." I tell her sincerely, already a little sorry that I intend to break that trust. She gives me this sweet, little smile that I only see on her when her nerves are stretched thin and disappears. I sigh and climb up to the window to watch the ever increasing flashes of light. The heavens open and my view from the window turns white as the world outside is enveloped in a sheet of rain. Sinking to the bench, I focus on the floor, trying to block out the wails of the other patients that grow louder with the storm. Glancing up at the window again, I take a deep breath to calm my nerves; fairly certain that storms like this one aren't common here. The lights in the corridor are flicking and power loss seems imminent.

I slip into the corridor and though the distress of the other patients is louder, Donna is nowhere to be seen. Violent thunderstorms are not my ideal 'escape from the loony bin' conditions.

I swipe a white lab coat that I find hanging on the back of the chair behind the 'reception' desk and nab a key card that poor, harried Donna has left next to the telephone. The concrete of the stairs is cold beneath my slippered feet and I am half way to the door when the ward is plunged into darkness.

"Damn," I whisper into the dark. Proceeding carefully, I feel along the cinder block walls until I feel the cool metal of the door. "Ah ha," and I push, the door opening easily, releasing me into what I guess is the main part of the hospital.

The hallways hum with the voices of staff and the visitors who were trying to soothe their patient-loved-ones. A sudden click and I jump as a generator kicks on and emergency lights illuminate the area.

"Deep breath, Belle," I mutter, coaching myself to be calm and nonchalant while I make my way through the halls, looking for some sort of side exit. Leaving this place through the front door, dressed as I am, probably isn't the smartest thing. The thunder and lightning that had been so frequent and violent in its volume, are beginning to fade as the storm moves away.

Passing into a corridor that looks deserted, I find what I'm looking for and I hurry toward the dim green light spelling out 'Exit' above the door. I peek out the small window, it is still pouring rain and I will be soaked the minute I step into it. Glancing over my shoulder, nervous that I might have been followed, I see nothing and; taking one more deep breath I push the handle and step out into the rain storm and freedom.


	5. Five

I wander the water logged streets of Storybrooke for what seems like hours; more out of curiosity in this place that I have been locked away from, than being a little lost. Memories overwhelm me constantly as I pass by the public library and then the school. The town is quiet except for the rain and the soft squish of my soggy slippers. My hospital clothes cling to my skin and the white coat I "borrowed" hangs uncomfortably.

The air is chilly and the glow of lights from Granny's Diner beckons to me. I hover at the windows, watching the bustle of activity. I can't go in like this, all drenched and dripping and I have no money. And what if _she_ sees me? Are they looking for me yet? How long have I been out here?

I turn away from the diner and squish my way to the street, hardly noticing the young boy until it's too late and we collide. He stumbles backward but I grab his hand to help steady him.

"Sorry, miss," he mumbles.

"It's quite all – Henry Mills?" I ask, but Henry runs up the path to the diner, not waiting to hear my assurance of no harm done. Coming up behind him is a slender young woman with dark hair cut like a pixie. My mind swims with joy: _Mary Margaret!_

"I apologize for Henry. I think he's eager for his hot chocolate."

I smile at her as she takes in my disheveled appearance. There is no spark of recognition in her eyes.

"Are you all right? I don't think I've seen you here before."

My heart is heavy, knowing that my once good friend no longer knows me. Will that mean that Mr. Gold will not know me either?

"Oh, I'm fine." I wave away her concern. "I was locked out of my house after work and I decided to sport the 'drowned rat' chic." I give her a lop-sided grin and she returns the smile.

"Here, it may not help much now," she apologizes, handing me her umbrella. "But it just might."

Good ole' Mary Margaret, always so kind hearted. I accept the umbrella gratefully and she takes her leave, following young Henry into the diner.

I head in the general direction of his – Mr. Gold's house, or at least what I perceive to be the direction. Part of me had hoped to find my Papa and some dry clothes before I sought out Mr. Gold, but an uneasy feeling kept me away. Something tells me that there is no way I can trust him not to return me to the hospital. Better to go to someone who also couldn't stand the sight of me, right? I snort quietly and kick a puddle, the water squishing between my toes but I can't get much wetter.

What if he's not at home? I still have no idea what time it is or even the exact season. All I know is that it's cool and dark and definitely not winter. Maybe I should have gone to the pawn shop first but if _she_ knows that I am missing, then that will be the first place she will go. Besides, I'm not above forcing my way into the house to wait for him, if it means a dry place to spend some time.

I turn the corner and the street is immediately familiar. Slapping the umbrella against my thigh as I walk, I go through every scenario in my head on my slow walk to the house. The realization that I have not thought much beyond getting into the house is an uneasy one.

Mr. Gold's house is not hard to find and even if I _had_ forgotten it, I would still know it anywhere. Some houses exude the personalities of their owners and Mr. Gold permeates every inch of his slightly gaudy home.

Glancing around and finding the street empty, I make my way up the stone path. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu hits me; things look much as they did the Halloween night he sent me away.

All too soon, again, I stand before the door. Through the decorative glass of the door I can see a dim light. He must be home.

Hands shaking, I press the doorbell and then- I wait. I can hardly hear the rain over the sound of my breathing and pounding heart. It seems like an eternity before I can hear the faint, familiar footfalls move through the house, punctuated by the soft 'thunk' of his cane. Then the doorknob is turning and I vainly wish for a brush; too late. I am face to face with Mr. Gold.

His face is impassive as he takes in my appearance, giving me no sign that he recognizes me.

"Mr. Gold?"

"Yes. What is it?" his dark eyes hint at irritation.

"You – don't. You don't know me." I state, disbelief freezes me in place, my voice cracks with threatening tears.

Wordlessly, Gold steps aside and gestures for me to come in. Still upset, I follow, barely noticing the door being shut and locked behind me.

I remain in the front hallway, dripping on the antique-looking rug while he disappears into the house. I peer through the doorway into the front room, which looks much the same as it did the last time I was here and I bet that our tea cup is still in its place in the curio cabinet.

Mr. Gold re-emerges minutes later with an armful of towels and what looks to be dry clothing.

"This way," he calls, leading me into his study. The same ugly and hard looking couch dominates the room, the heavy drapes are drawn and the reading lamp near his chair illuminates the room.

"Here," he hands me a pair of boxer shorts and a large t-shirt. "I regret that I don't have anything – appropriate, for you."

Gold leaves me to change and nervously, I peel off my wet clothes, leave them in a neat pile on the hardwood floor next to the couch. Drying my body with the fluffy towels until the only dampness I feel is in my bones. When I am finished dressing, he returns with a warm blanket, draping it around my shoulders. I smile at him nervously and he leaves again, returning with two steaming mugs of tea that he sets on the coffee table.

"Please, have a seat."

Still mute, not trusting myself to speak, I sit stiffly on the edge of the couch and he takes a seat, so close, next to me. I clutch the blanket around me as if trying to protect myself, afraid of the questions he is bound to ask me.

"Where have you been?" Gold's voice is quiet and he's staring at his hands. I open my mouth to answer and shut it immediately. I have no words. He catches my wrist and turns it palm up to read the hospital bracelet there. His lip curls into a brief sneer that is not meant for me.

"I could never forget you, Belle." He says after a few minutes. "I thought you were dead."

"I know," is all I can whisper, finally recalling the day he came to pay his respects to my Papa while I lay still in the upstairs hallway. I should have run down to him, exposing Papa's lie. No use in wondering what might have been. His fingers trace the lines on my palm and I shiver involuntarily, having been colder than I thought.

"You're not going to send me back, are you?"

Now that I have found him again, the last thing I want is to be parted again. Keeping me here will probably be a huge imposition and not just a little bit dangerous. I look up into his dark brown eyes, finding them misty.

"No," Gold clears his throat and blinks away the traitor tears. "I will not send you away again."

"But I can't stay – "

Gold silences me with a look and draws me to him. I tuck my legs underneath me and nestle into his side while he arranges another blanket over me.

"There will be time to worry later, Belle," he kisses the top of my head. "Rest, now."

Gold wraps his arms around me and I close my eyes, feeling safe for the first time in a long time, in the arms of my love.


End file.
